Winning the male lead

The Pope’s soul has returned!—A monumental piece of good news! The Holy Church erupted in cheers!

The Pope’s soul had returned with Cyril, the King of Orland Empire!—…The church’s envoys and priests wanted to put on a sour face, but when they saw the Pope’s radiant, glowing head, they dared not say a word.

Le Tian had already removed his cumbersome helmet and was only wearing a mask. He followed behind Land as they walked forward. The envoys and priests lined up on either side, their gazes not particularly friendly as they occasionally glanced at this continent’s infamous madman.

He glanced around and came to a conclusion. He turned to Land and said, “Your main temple has a serious problem.”

The church’s envoys and priests all shot dagger-like glares at him. What nonsense was this? The Holy Church’s main temple had been built three hundred years ago by the greatest architectural master of that era. It was known as a divine palace on earth, its gLandeur and beauty leaving all in awe. And yet, this lunatic king claimed it had serious issues?

Land humbly asked, “What’s wrong with it?”

Le Tian spoke with great depth, “Look at this. Such a massive palace, yet not a single mirror in sight. Is this even acceptable?”

The envoys and priests who had been waiting for some profound architectural critique: …It really was nonsense.

Unexpectedly, their Pope responded quite seriously, “That makes sense.”

The envoys and priests now seriously suspected that their Pope had been tainted by the mortal world during his time away. He was supposed to be otherworldly, pure, untouched by human affairs—surely, he wouldn’t entertain the ramblings of a madman!

Land’s physical body was placed in his sleeping chambers.

The church officials followed them up to the chamber doors but did not dare enter. It seemed entry was forbidden. They stretched their necks to watch Le Tian step inside, their gazes practically glued to his back as if afraid he would devour their Pope.

In a way, their suspicions aligned perfectly with the system’s concerns.

Upon entering, Le Tian noticed that Land’s sleeping quarters were at least three times the size of his own Mirror Palace. The chamber housed five or six massive bookshelves filled with ancient tomes, various antique decorations, and an enormous desk big enough to accommodate four or five people, cluttered with drawings and symbols.

He took a lap around the room but was disappointed to find no mirrors. Sighing, he pulled out his personal pocket mirror, removed his headgear, checked himself out, and nodded in satisfaction. As expected, he was indeed the “Continent’s Officially Recognized Most Handsome Man”—absolutely stunning.

Land patiently waited for him to finish admiring himself before speaking. “If nothing unexpected happens, my body should be sitting in a chair in the bedroom.”

Le Tian said, “Lead the way.”

Land floated ahead, guiding him deeper into the palace.

The palace’s architecture became more compact as they moved inward, with corridors gradually narrowing. At the narrowest point, only one person could pass at a time. Le Tian speculated that this was designed to emphasize the Pope’s status as singular and supreme. Finally, after crossing a semi-circular aerial bridge, he saw a tall figure in white robes sitting against a stained-glass window.

He suddenly realized: This was Land. This was Land without his divine radiance!

He halted, and Land also stopped, turning back to ask, “What’s wrong?”

Le Tian stared at him and asked in a steady voice, “Can you control your soul and keep it from returning to your body for a little while?”

Land didn’t understand the reason behind this request but answered honestly, “Yes, I can.”

Le Tian’s eyes lit up instantly. The burning passion in his emerald-green gaze was practically tangible. He licked his lips and said, “Then don’t move. Be good.”

…Be good? Land pondered those words and found them unexpectedly amusing. He chuckled and said, “Alright.”

Le Tian’s heart pounded violently as he crept forward.

It was midday. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass walls, casting bold, colorful patterns across the man’s face. His features were split into vivid, exaggerated color blocks—forehead, nose, cheeks—but no matter how they were divided, each part was perfectly placed, overwhelmingly handsome. Though his eyes were closed, it was easy to imagine them—surely, they were as deep and vast as the ocean, filled with the most profound emotions.

Softly, Le Tian asked, “Are your eyes blue?”

Land found the question odd. They had spent so much time together—how could Cyril not know? “Yes, they are blue.”

That settled it. Such a breathtaking face paired with ocean-blue eyes—this was an angel on earth!

Le Tian sighed deeply, feeling both joy and sorrow. Sorrow because he was no longer the undisputed “Continent’s Officially Recognized Most Handsome Man.” Joy because Land was so breathtakingly attractive that he found him utterly irresistible. The heavens had mercy—God had left him a window of opportunity.

The system, seeing him practically drooling with excitement, thought: You’ll be crying in a second.

Land asked, “Can I go back now?”

Le Tian, without thinking, responded, “Sure.”

In the next instant, that angelic, stunning face vanished, replaced by a radiant surge of holy light, illuminating Land’s upper body—and thoroughly blinding Le Tian.

Le Tian: “…Oh, f***…”

.The system spoke gently, “2000-watt Holy Light—illuminating your beauty.”

Le Tian: “…I want to sever our mother-son relationship!”

The system: “Hah, as if I care.”

Le Tian: “Waaah… I hate you…”

Land had finally returned to his body. His soul had been away the longest it had ever been, and now his limbs felt slightly weak. Slowly curling his fingers, he turned to Le Tian with a warm smile. “Thank you.”

Le Tian, numb, responded, “No need.”

Land without a soul was an angel on earth. He with a soul was still an angel—just one with an excessively large halo.

Le Tian sighed dejectedly. “I’m leaving.”

Helena was at the monastery behind the Holy Sea when she was captured by the envoys. When she was brought before Cyril, she was informed that the masked young man before her was the King of Orland and her betrothed. She nearly blacked out from shock.

Cyril had defected from the Holy Sea, hadn’t he?

She had thought he would never set foot in the Holy Sea again in his lifetime. That’s why she had gone through so much trouble to escape there. She never expected him to chase her all the way here.

Le Tian examined the female lead of this world.

An oval face, the most common chestnut-brown curls of the continent, simply pinned at the back of her head. She had delicate features, but her expression carried a hint of wariness. She wore a dark green corset dress—although she had been “captured,” she still carried herself with grace. Her hands folded elegantly in front of her abdomen, and she curtsied to Cyril with perfect etiquette. “Good day, Your Majesty.” Her gown cascaded like flowing water, pleasing to the eye.

Le Tian turned to the Holy Sea’s envoys behind her and said, “You may leave.”

The Holy Sea stood above all the nations of the continent. Even royal members of various countries treated its envoys with deference. Le Tian’s condescending attitude made the envoys bristle with displeasure. Their expressions turned sour as they left, their gray robes billowing with an audible snap.

Helena glanced at their departing figures, then turned back to him with a smile. “They’re so arrogant. I’d love to teach them a lesson someday.”

Le Tian: …

“System, what kind of female lead is this?” He was a little confused. Helena looked so gentle and elegant, yet her inner thoughts were surprisingly aggressive.

The system quickly pulled up her profile. She was the only legitimate heir to the Kingdom of Xiondor, the sole royal successor. She had been groomed as the future ruler since childhood, excelling in equestrian skills, swordsmanship, literature, and art. Three years ago, she had even begun handling some of the kingdom’s affairs and frequently represented the nation in diplomacy.

Le Tian was puzzled. Was Xiondor really so desperate that they’d willingly give her away in marriage?

The system answered, “Her father just had a son.”

Le Tian: “What?”

The system: “A newborn.”

As Cyril’s lake-green eyes widened slightly in surprise, Helena calmly said, “Your Majesty, I regret that our first meeting is under such circumstances. However, I must state clearly—I will not marry you.”

Before Le Tian could even process what was happening, he was outright rejected. He hadn’t even had time to feel frustrated when Helena continued, “Of course, I understand that you may not be particularly eager to marry me, either.”

“From what I know, Your Majesty is quite a unique person.” Helena smiled slightly, her eyes narrowing. She looked harmless but carried a hidden sharpness.

Le Tian was silent for a moment before gesturing for her to sit. “Let’s talk.”

They sat facing each other. Ignoring Le Tian’s masked face, their profile view made them look like a royal couple straight out of an oil painting—noble and dignified.

Once seated, Le Tian did not immediately question her. Instead, he poured her a cup of hot tea. “Please, go ahead.”

Helena took the cup with both hands, sipping lightly. She gazed at the brilliant sunlight streaming through the window and slowly said, “I don’t want to get married.”

“Most people would obediently accept a political marriage like this, wouldn’t they? For the sake of their royal family, for the benefit of their nation, personal happiness is always considered insignificant. But I’ve never believed that,” she turned her face towards Cyril, who was quietly listening. “I am a very selfish person.”

Cyril leaned back against the soft chair, resting his head on one hand. “Your father plans to let your brother inherit the throne?”

For the first time, a crack appeared in her composed expression.

“Brother? That bastard of a child? He’s not worthy!” She gritted her teeth, her fingers tightening around the tea cup until they turned red. She took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Apologies, I lost my composure.”

“Your Majesty, you see, political marriage is meaningless. For years, my father never stopped searching for a mistress to bear him a male heir. No matter how talented I am, no matter how well I rule, no matter how much support I have from the people, he can still use marriage as an excuse to cast me aside and pave the way for that two-month-old brat.”

“I refuse to become a woman as pitiful as my mother.” Helena’s voice was steady, but her fingers trembled slightly. “Of course, I don’t mean to assume the worst about you. I simply reject marriage—I refuse the risks that come with it. I hope you understand. To you, a princess from Xiondor is hardly of any significance. So please, just pretend you never saw me. In a while, the name Helena will disappear from this world forever.”

She finished in one breath, her hands shaking as she lifted the cup to take another sip. Her entire body radiated sorrow and resistance.

Le Tian asked the system, “Given the way the alliance operates, won’t she end up seeking refuge in the Holy Sea and getting the Pope’s support to reclaim her throne?”

The system replied, “That’s the usual pattern.”

For once, Le Tian’s interest in the male lead of this world was at an all-time low. The system saw a sliver of hope—perhaps he would actually follow the script this time.

Le Tian lifted his own tea cup, then awkwardly realized he was wearing a mask. He set the cup down again and said to Helena, “I can’t agree to that. If possible, I hope you will marry me.”

Helena lifted her gaze, her expression sharp as a blade. Though she didn’t speak, her eyes screamed murder.

“Xiondor is insignificant. Orland could crush it with a single finger,” Le Tian said slowly. “So marry me…”

He leaned in slightly, his emerald-green eyes shimmering under the light. “…And as the widow of a king, use that as a stepping stone to become the Queen of Orland.”

Helena’s eyes widened in shock. The sheer weight of his words hit her like a hammer, causing a loud buzzing in her head.

“Since we’re already at the Holy Sea, let’s just hold the wedding here. Then, on the way back to our country, I will encounter an ‘unfortunate accident’ and die, and you can justifiably take control of the Orland Empire,” Cyril said casually, crossing his legs. “Don’t worry, the Pope will support you. There’s nothing to fear.”

Helena still looked completely confused. Her gaze toward him shifted from murderous intent to one of pity—”So he really is a madman, huh…”

“I have neither the talent nor the interest to be king,” Cyril shrugged. “You’re quite capable—smart, strong, and decisive. To be honest, I had been wondering who should inherit the Orland Empire in the future, but now the problem is solved.”

He spoke so nonchalantly, as if a royal throne were nothing more than a worthless trinket. It took her a long moment to digest his words before she cautiously asked, “Why are you willing to help me?”

“Trading something I don’t want in exchange for the happiness of two people…” Cyril pointed at Helena and himself. “I think it’s a fair deal.”

Helena had never met someone like him in her entire life. She was so shocked and exhilarated that she even doubted whether she was dreaming. But the scent of the tea in front of her and the warm sunlight pricking at her skin reminded her that this was indeed real.

If anyone else had made such a proposal, she wouldn’t have believed them. But since it was Cyril—who was known as a madman—she actually found herself wanting to believe him.

“But I do have conditions,” Cyril said slowly.

Hearing that, Helena actually felt relieved. Of course, there was an exchange—it all made sense now. Would he ask her to bear an heir for the Orland Empire? Or to help expand its territory? No matter what he requested, she would do her best to fulfill it!

“Promise me that you will never lose the courage to love.”

“Always look forward to life with the heart of a young girl.”

Cyril stood up and gently hugged the utterly stunned Helena. “You will become the freest girl on the entire continent.”

After he left the room, the system couldn’t help but ask, “Why are you doing this?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Cyril said in a deep, dramatic voice. “Because—fatherly love is as vast as a mountain.”

System: …

Cyril stretched lazily and muttered, “It’s been so long since I’ve had a proper bath. The Holy Light cleansing is fine, but it just doesn’t feel the same. The Holy Sea is so big—there must be a bathhouse somewhere, right? System, does the Holy Sea have a bathhouse?”

The system, still in shock, replied mechanically, “Yes…”

Cyril grabbed a passing messenger. “I want to take a bath. Where’s the bathhouse?”

Messenger: …

Since he was a guest personally brought back by the Pope, the Holy Sea messengers had no choice but to endure. “Today is Wednesday. The bathhouse is closed.”

Cyril was shocked. He turned to the system. “You mean people here don’t bathe every day?”

System: “Yes, only you do.”

Cyril quickly let go of the messenger. Who knew when this person last bathed? Just thinking about it made him nauseous. He hurried off to find Land.

The messengers standing guard outside the Pope’s palace watched as the mad king swaggered inside without even sparing them a glance. Such disrespect! Unbelievable!

In less than half a day, the messengers of the Holy Sea had already come to a unanimous agreement—hurry up and make this lunatic leave!

Land had just returned to his physical body and was busy catching up on his piled-up papal duties.

“Land.”

Hearing Cyril’s crisp voice, he thought he was imagining things at first. But when Cyril strode confidently into the palace, he finally looked up and greeted him with a delighted smile.

Cyril didn’t notice his smile. He only thought, “Ah, the lighting here is as bright as ever.” Then he noticed Land had changed into a red robe. “Do you have a place to bathe here?”

Land instinctively raised his hand, but Cyril immediately stopped him. “I mean, do you have a bathhouse?”

Of course, the Pope’s palace had a bathhouse—an enormous one at that. It was hexagonal in shape, with angelic statues at each pillar pouring a continuous stream of clear water.

“This is a diverted hot spring,” Land explained.

Cyril instantly fell in love with the bathhouse. “This is perfect! I’m taking a bath here.”

Land softly agreed, his face slowly flushing red. “Alright.”

After a month without a proper bath, Cyril lounged in the warm water, feeling like he was in heaven. He held up a small mirror, admiring his wet face, and sighed, “Like a lotus emerging from clear water—naturally beautiful and unadorned.”

The system, which had just begun to regain some sense of normalcy, was once again so disgusted it nearly crashed.

Meanwhile, Land was in the main hall a few rooms away, trying to focus on his work, but none of the words in front of him were registering. He was locked in a fierce battle with his imagination.

Cyril was bathing in there…

He set down his documents and began pacing anxiously, trying to suppress the wild thoughts rampaging through his mind.

“Land…!”

He thought he heard Cyril calling his name. He clutched his ears in frustration, scolding himself for his strange thoughts. He very, very, very much wanted to see Cyril take a bath…

Glittering water droplets would slide down Cyril’s smooth forehead, over his delicate nose, slowly tracing the curves of his soft pink lips… No, no, no! Land slammed his fist onto the table. He couldn’t keep thinking about this. Gritting his teeth, he ran out of the hall.

Back in the bathhouse, Cyril finally gave up on calling him. It was too far—he probably couldn’t hear him at all. “What do I do if I don’t have any clothes?” He muttered in distress.

The system, having finally recovered, said coldly, “What are you so worried about? Didn’t you want to stay in the Holy Sea forever? What’s the big deal if he sees you naked?”

Cyril replied shyly, “We haven’t confirmed our relationship yet. I can’t do something so shameful.”

System: …

More than anything, the system couldn’t understand—”Didn’t you say you weren’t interested in him?”

Cyril looked appalled. “What’s wrong with you, system? Why do you keep assuming there’s something dirty between me and him? Can’t we just have a simple ‘product and user’ relationship?”

System: …

How outrageous… Not even a tool! Even an object had more value! The system suddenly felt a bit sorry for Land. How could Cyril not be interested in “God” himself?!

Cyril, having failed to summon Land, noticed his fingers were getting wrinkly from soaking too long. This would affect his beauty! Forget it—he climbed out of the bath, casually wrapped a red towel around his waist, and walked out while calling for Land. When he reached the main hall, he realized Land wasn’t even there.

The Holy Sea messengers outside had been watching carefully. Not long after the mad king entered, the Pope himself had rushed out, not even acknowledging their greetings.

The messengers whispered among themselves: “Don’t you think the Pope has been acting strange since he returned?”

“A little.”

“He seems… brighter than before.”

They exchanged glances—yes! So bright! Almost blinding! Clearly, his divine power was growing stronger by the day. Their reverence deepened.

Land had rushed to an outer temple to pray, stopping only when he reached a stone pillar. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

“Your Holiness?”

After her conversation with Cyril, Helena, overjoyed, had come to pray at the temple and happened to run into the dazzlingly radiant Pope. She greeted him respectfully.

Helena’s smile was as bright as the sun, but in Land’s eyes, it was inexplicably annoying. He straightened his posture, not really in the mood to talk, and simply nodded.

Helena wasn’t offended. The Pope was God’s son—of course, he wouldn’t have much to say to mere mortals. Still smiling, she said, “I am truly honored to have your support.”

Land was taken aback. “My support?”

Helena hesitated. “Cyril said you would officiate our wedding and support me…”

Land froze completely, as if he had turned to stone. The blood in his veins seemed to stop flowing.

Before Helena could finish her sentence, the red-clad Pope abruptly turned and left, so quickly that her hair was blown into disarray.

Helena gasped in surprise. “Did I say something wrong?”

Had Cyril not spoken to him about this yet?